Warm
by Tears of Mercury
Summary: You don't always have to be so strong for me, you know. You don't always have to protect me. Maybe I'm trying to protect me, too. Crellie. xOneshotx


**Warm**

Written by **Tears of Mercury**

**Rating:** I'm rating it **M** because of thematic elements, but that's really just to be on the safe side.

**A/N:** This is my first-ever Crellie piece, and I'm still not sure how I feel about it. I sincerely hope you guys enjoy and feel free to tell me any ways that I can improve with writing this pair, especially if the characters seem OOC to you. It's really AU, set around roughly the middle of season six.

Jesse was right. I should have brought the damn jacket after all; I'm freezing out here. Goosebumps line my exposed arms and legs and I know that eyeliner makes small, smudged trails down my face. The only relief is the wind blowing against my face, chilling me to the bone and providing a comfortably numbing sensation. The calm of the night is a stark contrast to the blaring music that I know is still playing inside; from the curb I can make out the melody and feel the bass vibrating. I hear him approaching softly and shift to the side slightly as the faint scratch of cement against worn-in denim reaches my ears. The silence would be unbearably awkward, but the irritating punk music tumbling out of the house gives me something to focus on. "Hey," he greets me hesitantly. I laugh a little at the syllable and a tear rushes down my cheek. My hand finds its way to my eye, wiping away the trail of dampness left on my face.

"I'm sorry… I don't know why I did that," I murmur, twisting my thumb with a fisted hand. Strong arms encircle my arms and waist and a head comes down to rest on my shoulder. I breathe it in: that faint scent of old leather and cedar that I've come to love so much.

"You don't have to be sorry, Ellie. The guy's a jackhole, okay? He has no idea what it is that he's missing. You're the best thing that ever happened to him," he declares, drawing his arms a little more tightly around me until I relax against him. More tears slip down my cheeks, and the tenuous hold I have on control further dissolves.

"Then why do all the men in my life keep walking out the door?" I demand emotionlessly. I'd name them all to prove my point, but self pity was a vice that I swore to stop indulging in awhile ago. Besides, he already knows; he knows almost everything about me.

"I'm not going anywhere." I relax my head against the side of his face, the faintest hint of stubble brushing my temple. It's sweet of him to offer the words, and I'm sure he doesn't see the irony in them in the slightest. It almost makes me want to point out that he'll be gone in a matter of weeks, and then I most likely won't see him again for months. The moment is too rare to ruin, though, so I simply shut my eyes and let the promise linger.

"I'm sorry that tonight had to be so melodramatic. I don't know what happened. I've never seen that side of him before," I lie, remembering all too well the times that Jesse's eyes have turned black and cold as stone before. "I'm sure that we'll be back together by tomorrow," I go on, turning in to him even more as I say the words. He rubs my arms absentmindedly, bringing back warmth that I desperately need and can't stand to feel.

"Maybe that's not the best thing for you, El. How many times have you called me at three in the morning when something that he's said or done has made you cry?"

"Six hundred and fifty-three times, to be exact," I deadpan, staring at the pavement and cement beneath us. Our legs touch momentarily, and the heat coming from his body doesn't leave after he moves his leg slightly. The truth of the matter is that I've sneaked into the Jeremiah garage on more than one late night with the spare key he gave me a lifetime ago, curling up onto the most uncomfortable sofa in the world and dialing his number with shaking hands. And despite the fact that he claims to be a morning person, he's answered on the first ring every time I've called.

"Oh, El… I hate that anyone can hurt you like this."

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine." I don't mention that I've slept with Marco five nights this week because the urge to cut was a little too raw; that I've picked up the nasty habit of lighting a cigarette when I'm anxious and have nowhere to turn; that most mornings I sit in the sorry excuse for a car I got five months ago and stare out the windshield for a good twenty minutes before I find the motivation to turn the key in the ignition. But I won't admit to being weak; it would be admitting that I'm like _her_, and I won't, won't, _won't_ ever be anything like her.

"You don't always have to be so strong for me, you know. You don't always have to protect me," he prods gently, his words almost lost in my hair and the wind and the noise.

"Maybe I'm trying to protect me, too," I reply, twisting to look into his eyes.

"Why don't you let _me_ do that, just this once?" More tears slide down my face. I've never been good at relying on other people; I've never been given a reason to take the chance. The first time I did, the boy left me with a stack of unpaid rent bills and a broken heart. The second time…

"Why do I keep on letting you do this to me?" I whisper, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind my ear. I'm expecting questions; interrogation; a show of ignorance that I'm not sure if I trust is real or not. Instead he captures my hand gingerly.

"Because I keep on doing it." We're both silent for awhile, then: "I'm sorry; for the whole thing with Manny, for treating you more like a girlfriend than a best friend while I was dating her… for making you fight with Jesse."

"I'm sorry for giving Manny a reason to dump you," I say, laughing mirthlessly. We lean on each other for awhile, the only thing holding each other up. He starts trying to rub my arms again, and I tense involuntarily. "Don't, okay? It hurts."

"Only because you're so frozen your circulation is practically cut off," he argues back gently. I turn around to face him, prepared to say something or other in response. He's so incredibly close, though, his chapped lips familiar and foreign at the same time, those hazel eyes of his boring into me. He leans in gently, kissing me so tenderly I wonder if he thinks I'm made of glass. Something deep inside me burns, all of my reservations and barriers unraveling through one simple act. It hurts more than anything I've ever felt. "I…" he begins, unable to word an excuse, an apology, an anything. Instead of giving him the chance to take it back and steal the moment away from me, I pull him toward me slowly, my lips curling up ever so slightly when I hear his breath hitch. This time it hardly hurts at all, and I find myself leaning in further, overjoyed when he responds in kind. I pull back momentarily, stroking his brow as I speak.

"I love you. I've been in love with you since the moment you looked at me across group the first day of summer vacation and asked me if you would live through it. And I… I don't want Jessie, or Sean, or any other guy. I don't want to keep on falling into this hole… not without you there beside me." I've never been this bold, and the vulnerability of my situation makes blood pound through my head.

"I love you, too," he replies simply, leaning in to kiss me again. And I can't believe that it's happening to me, that everything I'd told myself for so long that I didn't want is exactly what I needed.

-0-0-0-

We finally walk back towards the house that I share with Marco and Dylan as the last of the partygoers filter out, Craig's leather jacket wrapped around my shoulders and hanging down to mid-thigh. As I reach for the doorknob a particularly powerful gust of wind blows through the porch. It stings my face, making my eyes water. Craig leans over and gently kisses each cheek, stroking my hair before whispering goodnight. And for a moment, I'm completely warm.


End file.
